Back To Normal
by merid1AN
Summary: Ian, Sara, a cold evening and a chocolate cookie. After Season 2. .::FINISHED::.
1. Part 1

Yo! This is my first story in English, so please be kind.  
  
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Everything is back to normal.  
  
The sun rises in white and sets in red. The moon rises in blue and sets in yellow. The night comes in black and goes too soon.  
  
My days are endless.  
  
The sun rises and sets. The sun cuts through the hall windows, flickers on tiny specks of dust. The sun touches the blades I hold.  
  
The blades I hold on to.  
  
I am here every day now. What used to be a necessity to maintain or improve my skills has become an addiction. I love the tender caress of the metal when I move the blades against my skin, the tiny marks that would fill with blood if I pressed a little harder. But I don't. They are sharp. And I'm precise.  
  
So I move silently, with sun in my eyes, all the moves known by heart seem to calm me down for a while. This is the peace I need after a sleepless night. This is the drug I need.  
  
Everything is back to normal. Everything but me.  
  
I can hear him clapping his hands silently. He knows I live for this. A few more steps and I am done. I bow my head, awaiting his approval.  
  
Sometimes I think of those few more steps. Back and towards him, the blades above my head, one fluid motion, too fast for him to see, but the sudden fear is there in his cold blue eyes just the moment before.  
  
I began to relish the fear. I know it. He knows it.  
  
He tilts his head and beckons.  
  
Come to breakfast, Ian.  
  
*  
  
He won't speak.  
  
The clattering of the dishes, the sound of a liquid being poured into a glass.  
  
The light breeze is moving the window curtains, the sun playing hide and seek on the rug and his leather shoes. He shifts uneasily and I catch his teaspoon before it falls to the floor. I hand it to him and his lips curve in that half-smile that vanishes before it really is there.  
  
But it was there nevertheless. I saw it.  
  
We moved to this room with our meals permanently, I guess. There is something about him now that needs the sun, the light, the fresh smell of the morning air. Maybe it reminds him of the finality of what awaits him, patient, but still there. Maybe he needs to see life again as he used to see it a long time ago.  
  
Or maybe he just got bored with the Great Room.  
  
I don't know. I guess I'll never know.  
  
That first night, when I brought him home, he was so calm and quiet. He let me help him into his chair, watched me as I lit the fire. As the darkness scurried away, I saw the flames reflect in his eyes, but his own fire had extinguished.  
  
I'm not quite sure, but I think that was the first time ever that I saw that thing in my father's eyes.  
  
Defeat.  
  
Oh, what a glorious victory that was, my love. A glorious victory indeed.  
  
The taste of wine is sharp today.  
  
I remember the sharp taste of her sweat. She was so afraid, breathing against the dusty wall, her skin crawling under my gloves. Perhaps for the first time in her life she was really afraid. I began to relish the fear. And I relished your fear too, timewalker.  
  
You were so afraid you didn't smell my own fear, perhaps even greater. He is looking at me questioningly. He's holding that knife like a weapon, pointing to the painting on the wall. His eyes shift and I follow his gaze. He brought one of them from the Great Room. He just couldn't help it. I smile. We're both addicted.  
  
- Yes, Father. - I reply after a while. He puts the knife down and returns to eating.  
  
That night flashes before my eyes once more.  
  
I couldn't watch him burn out like this, so I went to sleep, just leaving him there by the fire. It was his scream that woke me up. When I got back, he was still in his chair, rubbing his scar, muttering something I couldn't understand. I took the empty bottle from him, struggling for a while to make him release it from his clenched fingers. When I put it back on the table, I felt him move. He rose from the chair, well, at least he tried. I was by his side in a split second and then we both fell to the floor. My body twisted against my will and I fell on my back, protecting him from harm. He landed heavily on me, his hand gripping my neck, his knuckles white.  
  
His eyes were wide and locked on mine. His cheeks flushed red and a small vein pulsated madly on his forehead. He tried to say something, but instead he gripped tighter and I saw tiny red flashes dancing before my eyes. Again my body reacted first and my hands caught his wrists - why did I do it, so contrary to my training? - but then I let go. I slowly spread my arms and just waited. When my field of vision began to blur, he released me and backed off clumsily.  
  
He never spoke since. He can't or he won't. I don't know.  
  
I guess I'll never know.  
  
He is looking out of the window. I shoot a quick glance at his face, searching for the signs of death catching up, but I don't find any. I quickly avert my eyes so he doesn't see my little scrutiny.  
  
He didn't notice me doing that at first, but now I know he does. And I know it pleases him. He knows how I fear coming back home and not finding him breathing.  
  
I stand up and wait for a second, in case he needs anything, and then I head for the balcony door.  
  
A barely audible sound stops me. I turn around. His long white fingers quit tapping on the edge of the table and his eyes meet mine.  
  
- Yes, Father. - I agree before I push open the balcony door and jump above the railing just for the fun of it.  
  
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Like it? Don't like it? Reviews appreciated :)= 


	2. Part 2

The second part. We meet Sara.  
  
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The chocolate is sticky. As sticky as her lips, her face so unlike yours and yet so similar, when I overcame my fear and tasted her. The chocolate is sweet. Her lips weren't. And yet I crushed her tiny frame in my arms and we fell from the sofa and it was my back that connected with the floor - again, as I recall with amusement now, studying the chocolate cookie I found on the counter.  
  
On the counter near an empty coffee mug and a half-eaten apple.  
  
You still are clumsy, my love.  
  
I'm chewing the cookie, slowly taking in the surroundings. Not much has changed since my last visit here. Newly painted door, same bright red as always, one more lock to pick, new sheets on the bed and a tiny red pillow on the sofa. I smile, licking the chocolate off of my fingers. So you like red now.  
  
She liked red too. She scratched my back leaving long red marks, expecting me to like it as well, expecting me to be skilled in this art. Expecting me to just take her right there like anyone else would.  
  
Like everyone else did.  
  
I gently pick up all the cookie crumbs with my index finger so the counter is clean. The night has already come and your loft is floating in the long shadows moving across the floor. The windows are closed, but I can still hear the distant murmur of the city.  
  
The sharp sound of the Buell somewhere outside catches my attention. So, you're back. For one crazy moment I just want to stay there and then greet you as you come in. "The tea is ready, my dear. I'm sorry though, but I've eaten all the cookies." I fight this desire for a while, hearing your footsteps on the stairs. Then as I hear the key turning, I hide, hoping to disappear from the plain sight.  
  
*  
  
Your steps are heavy, as you enter your apartment and toss your jacket onto the couch in a long but accurate swing. You don't even bother to switch on the light. Instead you stride across the room in the darkness, knowing the furniture layout by heart - just as I do - and you enter the kitchen area.  
  
Did you hesitate a second by the door or was it just a shadow from outside that played on your weary face?  
  
The sound of the water running. The fire from the lighter flickers on your face for a short moment. You put the kettle on and now I can hear you rummaging through the shelves in search of something. You find it and an awkward silence falls suddenly.  
  
I stopped breathing, I think. I wait.  
  
The kettle whistles, you catch it quickly and pour the water.  
  
Was your move just a bit too quick or was that only the kettle whistling that startled us both?  
  
You turn and walk to the couch, still in darkness. Then you lean over the coffee table, put something down and extend your hand to light a small lamp beside the couch. The light reflects on the table top with tea mugs on it.  
  
Two mugs.  
  
I cannot help but smile. Ever the detective.  
  
I wait. You sigh. Heavily.  
  
"Long time, Nottingham."  
  
I hold my breath. When was the last time I heard my last name spoken that way? Hell, when was the last time anybody spoke my last name at all?  
  
"You gonna sit or just stand there and keep lurking?"  
  
I just love that disgust in your voice. I've missed it. I think I should pack it, label it and save it for later, so I could apply it to myself in small doses each time I feel empty inside. Each time I have nothing but the cold shimmer of my blades to keep me company.  
  
"Sugar?" you ask, lifting a teaspoon above your head. You don't even flinch as I quickly snatch it from your fingers. I shake the coat off and throw it over the back of the couch. I circle the couch and sit, watching you take your mug in both hands and lift it to your lips.  
  
"Hello, Sara." Does my voice sound a bit too hoarse or is it just the silence broken too soon?  
  
Your hands are trembling. You take a sip and slowly put the mug back down onto the table. Then you lean back against the couch, covering your face with your clasped hands. Still not looking at me.  
  
I slowly take off my gloves and place my hands around the steaming mug, welcoming the stinging pain of the hot porcelain against my bare skin. I blow the steam and inhale slowly.  
  
Earl grey. The smile on my face must look quite stupid right now, I guess, as I recall the earl grey afternoons my father loves so much. Should I assume you knew, since you searched your shelves for it for quite some time?  
  
"Just stop grinning and drink it," comes your weary voice from between your fingers. I smile even wider and lift the mug to my lips. I thought you weren't looking. Silly me.  
  
And we sit there in silence. I think I've grown accustomed to silence. How could I not?  
  
"I feel like I'm losing them, one by one." Your voice sounds firm now.  
  
And what should I say to that? I quickly go through all the appropriate answers and I find none that would fit now. So I go back to my tea instead.  
  
"Danny and Jake seem to make a good team." You're still not looking straight at me.  
  
Not that it bothers me, it's just that it is rather my habit not to look at you when we talk. Instead I just sit here, sipping my tea and looking at your slim but strong fingers, the insides of your palms so soft to the touch - I guess - and the rich curve of your lips just below. I guess I must be staring.  
  
"They're complementary." And that's where your voice breaks. Or did I just imagine that? No, I couldn't have. You draw a breath that seems quite shaky and press your palms tighter to your eyes.  
  
"Even your 'family' seems to have given up," you continue, your voice firm and steady again.  
  
Why does the word 'family' sound so bitter in your mouth, Sara? Were you so upset about having no family that you had to destroy mine as well?  
  
"No more freaked phone calls, no more attempts on my career and life."  
  
Something clicks inside my head and I begin to understand. But before I can draw my breath and respond, you speak again.  
  
"Even Gabriel seems rather. off. lately."  
  
You sigh deeply and almost desperately and it makes me feel suddenly out of place. I shouldn't have come here, I shouldn't have assumed that you would be as you used to be - annoyed and pissed off to see me. I shouldn't have thought that everything was back to normal.  
  
"And even you..." You are looking straight at me now. I meet your gaze and I'm suddenly hypnotized by it. There is more to these eyes than it used to be. I begin to realize now that I saw it then, in the back of Mr Bowman's store, but I failed to notice the eyes behind your eyes, they disappeared so quickly. But they did stop me cold back then.  
  
Somewhere in the background my brain registers the black rings around your eyes but all I can see now is that you are crying. What is it that you mourn, Sara?  
  
The eyes behind your eyes are gone now.  
  
You rise from the back of the couch and slowly extend your hand to touch my cheek. I freeze in place and close my eyes. Your voice drops into a whisper as you brush my skin with your fingertips: "But you're not even here, are you?"  
  
I struggle to keep my eyes shut. My fingers touch the mug with my tea, I make sure it stands securely on the table. I lightly push it back just out of my reach, should I make a sudden move and spill the liquid over myself.  
  
Your face is now inches from mine, I can feel it. Your breath moves the hair tucked behind my ear as you whisper almost inaudibly:  
  
"I want my life back."  
  
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Still like it? I would love to hear from you. {Hug} :)= 


	3. Part 3

The third part. Strange things happen.  
  
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I open my eyes and the moment ends. You seem to have emerged from whatever reverie you were in and acknowledged my presence. You pull back abruptly, lean against the sofa, furiously grasping the little red pillow and clutching it to your chest. You seem angry now. Should I be happy? Well, at least this is the emotion I know.  
  
"A L-I-F-E, Ian, you understand?" You burst out suddenly. "You ever had one?"  
  
I lean over the table and reach for my tea. "Been working on one recently."  
  
"Oh yeah? And how's it going?" You ask almost casually while you wildly pull out little feathers from the pillow and tear them apart between your fingers.  
  
"I'm alive." I announce half-heartedly.  
  
"Lucky you." You are stroking the pillow gently now, as if saying you're sorry for all those dead little feathers. The urge to switch places with the pillow suddenly becomes quite hard to bear.  
  
I recognize the feeling, emerging slowly from the dim recesses of my soul. I know I could supress it and then throw it all out in the silence of the hall, training till my muscles burn and the feeling subsides. But I can't. I find out I don't want to and I actually smile at the thought.  
  
"I think I can help you, Sara..." My voice is not my own anymore. It is quiet, more like the hiss of a snake. I shudder, but the feeling has taken over already. There is nothing I can do. Or is there?  
  
I slowly lean back and reach for my coat, never taking my eyes off of you. You sense something is wrong, hell you are good, the porcelain hits the floor and you grab your gun, but I'm no longer on the other end of the barrel, I'm behind you. One ever so gentle swirl and and your gun flies towards the dark end of the loft. Another, not so gentle swirl - I can feel your fury surfacing, I must silence you - and I quickly wrap my arms around you. You gasp as the blades cross under your chin, mere inches from your throat, as I force you to lean your head against my chest.  
  
I thought I saw the flicker of those eyes behind your eyes, but it's gone now. Your breathing is shallow and ragged, your body pressed tightly against mine. I can feel the muscles of your legs twitch as you struggle to make the decision and fight me. You don't even glance at the Witchblade on your wrist. You know that disturbing detail about your little toy, don't you?  
  
"Big toys for the big boys, Ian?" Your try to keep your voice calm and sound self-assured, but I think we both know you failed. It is not your voice that betrays you though.  
  
I can feel it emerging, it slides just below the surface now, sensing the needle I'm about to stick into my vein. The serpent inside me has awakened now and it waits impatiently for the first taste of the drug you feed me with, Sara. I close my eyes and inhale it slowly.  
  
Your fear.  
  
"Hey, watch it, you could kill someone with those!"  
  
I smile through the veil of overwhelming sensation. Your eyes widen. I can't see it, but I know it. Blackness outside, blackness inside my soul.  
  
"That's exactly what they are for, Sara." I whisper right into your ear.  
  
You shift uneasily, but you don't try to struggle anymore. I can feel your muscles relaxing, as you rest against me, trying to avoid the blades. I guess you'll try a different approach now...  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Nottingham?" You spit out suddenly.  
  
"Fulfilling your wish, Sara" I whisper, lost in your scent. "I'm taking your life from you so you can take it back... if you can."  
  
"Get. These. Things. Off. Of. Me. Nottingham." You growl.  
  
So, we're trying to be intimidating now. Hmmm... I open my eyes and let them follow the curve of the blade from its very tip to the part which is resting against your skin.  
  
The touch of the blade against the bare skin. It's the only caress I've ever known. Isn't it generous of me to share that feeling with you?  
  
"These 'things', Sara, are two of the most beautiful pieces of steel ever made by the hand of man." I say quietly, watching the skin on your throat twitch as you take a shallow breath.  
  
"Gee, I'm impressed. Now..."  
  
The blade is now a hair's breadth from your skin. But I can't move it away now. I can't. So I blurt out:  
  
"Don't!...move... This might hurt you."  
  
I might hurt you.  
  
I know it is too late now...  
  
"Shit, you talk like your father again, Nottingham." You manage to say through your clenched teeth, barely taking a breath.  
  
I know it's too late...  
  
The air is so heavy now, it is hard to breathe. Or is it your fear that dulled my senses and I forgot to? I open my mouth and gasp for oxygen. You shudder.  
  
It is too late.  
  
A droplet of blood slowly appears on your neck where your skin has touched the blade when you moved. I watch it fascinated. The serpent watches it with me. Then I slowly move the blades an inch away from your throat. The serpent bends my head to your neck and I slowly lick the blood off of your skin.  
  
Nothing has prepared me for this. Nothing in my life has prepared me for the rush I feel after tasting you. Is it just you or is it the mystical lifeforce in your blood that makes me so addicted? I shut my eyes tight and struggle to regain control. I could kill you now, the serpent guiding my movements so it can get the overdose of you and lay on its back, resting, fulfilled...  
  
I'm not a monster.  
  
Your voice brings me back to reality and I force my overdosed brain to recall your words. And then I remember and it strikes me with full force.  
  
'Is it you, Ian, or is Irons still down there somewhere?'  
  
The serpent writhes in pain and crawls back into its cave. I push the blades away from your throat and they fall clattering onto the floor. I'm not a monster. Yet. Or did I just make myself one?  
  
Is it still me?  
  
I watch as you turn slowly to face me and then go back a few steps. You study my face for a while and then you cover the distance between us in a blink of and eye and slap me squarely across the face. Hard. The flashes of white appear before my eyes and my body acts of its own free will again, catching both of your wrists in my hands before you make another assault on my face.  
  
Is it still me? I look deep into your eyes, searching for those eyes behind them, searching for an answer there. Is it me? I must know...  
  
I pull you slowly but deliberately towards me. You're not fighting it? Or is it just my imagination that hopes you to bend to my demands? But then as I lower my head you close your eyes. Awaiting it? I suddenly feel the urge to flee, but I supress it and push forward to feel the other taste of you.  
  
Your knees give out and I jerk you back up so your lips don't escape mine. I think I bit you as you tried to push away, because I can taste your blood yet again. I want to slow it down a bit but then I feel the tip of your tongue touch the corner of my mouth. I'm having difficulties with understanding words now so it takes me a while to comprehend what you just whispered against my lips:  
  
"Was that my last cookie, Nottingham?"  
  
I growl. The aching surfaces again and it's a different kind of ache, but likewise unbearable.  
  
Backwards, backwards, back of my knees connecting with the couch, falling onto it, pulling you with me, your hands tugging at the hem of my sweater, let it go above my head and onto the floor, my t-shirt following, your nails against my chest, your knee pressed against the aching between my legs, and your t-shirt flies up up and away now, you start unbuckling my belt, your hands trembling, I push you away, angrily, you're too slow, I'll do it myself, damn it!.  
  
The Witchblade glows on your wrist and then I remember.  
  
Cold glass against my hot forehead, rivulets of sweat falling down my back, plastering my clothes to my skin, waves of pain rushing through my body as he grabs you and kisses you roughly, forgetting the white flower of purity he had brought you. And then you both bounce against the wall and fall onto the bed, kissing and trying to discard all your clothes in the rush so awfully similar to the one that swallowed me just a while ago. And you unbuckle his belt and he pushes you onto the bed in the awfully similar fashion.  
  
A frustrated cry escapes my lips and I tear away, stagger backwards from your dreamy eyes and parted lips. I stumble over something, fall over something else and my back connects painfully with the floor. I lay there, unblinking, analysing the dull ache in my spine and in the back of my head.  
  
Was it still me a while ago or was it a monster you had awaken when you let me taste your blood?  
  
I hear the rustling of clothes and your face comes into view, your eyes not so dreamy anymore. You look at me with a worried expression on your face, as I stop staring at the ceiling and turn my eyes to regard you.  
  
"Hey... You alright there, Nottingham?"  
  
You look so unusually helpless, just standing there over me, clutching the red pillow to your bare chest, your brown hair a disheveled mess hanging around your face.  
  
I blink, feeling the tears forming in my eyes and I burst out laughing. I'm not a monster. I'm me. It's only me.  
  
The laughter is so cleansing. Tears are streaming down my face. I can barely see you now, as you sink to your knees beside me, the look of worry on your face turning into anger. You throw the pillow away and search for something else to cover yourself with. I realize you must be thinking I'm laughing at you. I try to stop and I wipe my tears away with my forearm. Then I look at you again - you're dressed now - and I know I won't be able to stop. I roll onto my side, my forehead almost touching your knees, I clutch my hands to my stomach, laughing so hard I can barely catch a breath.  
  
You hit me in the arm with your fist, but not so hard. I know my laughter is highly contagious and I can feel it building inside you.  
  
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Your voice is shaky and you hit me once again as if to cover your lack of self-confidence. This blow was strong, I would have collapsed if I weren't already on the floor. You swing your arm again and I raise my hand, palm up, in attempt to stop another blow.  
  
"Please... Sara..." I choke. "Is that my shirt you are wearing?"  
  
You let out a frustrated groan and then get up, leaving me there on the floor, hysterical laughter turning my insides out. I can hear your unsteady footsteps as you walk to the kitchen, laughing silently, obviously hoping I won't hear that. Silly you.  
  
My laughter subsides and I slowly get up from the floor and climb up onto the couch. I lean back and close my eyes. The image of your body under mine comes to my mind and I feel my heart starting to race.  
  
You come back after a while.  
  
"Jeez, I almost lost it..." You mutter under your breath. I can hear you running your hand through your hair and sighing deeply. I open my eyes to see you kneeling beside the couch, cleaning the remains of the mug from the floor. You wipe up the tea with a cloth, stand up and pad back into the kitchen.  
  
"Your head OK?" Your voice comes again. I look over my shoulder to see you standing behind me with a small bag in your hand. "Want some ice on it?"  
  
I shake my head slowly. "No, thank you, my head is fine..."  
  
"But I guess I'd use some of that ice on a certain other part of my body..." I add after a moment of hesitation. I meet your startled expression with a smile that I hope is boyish enough and I can see you smile too.  
  
"Don't make me take it literally, Ian..." You realize you walked right into this one but it's too late.  
  
"Oh I wish you would take it, Sara. Literally."  
  
You hold my gaze for a moment and then pout your lips. "In your dreams, Nottingham."  
  
I smile even wider. "You know me so well, Sara."  
  
I duck and the bag of ice flies right over my head and splashes against the coffee table top.  
  
"Yeah, I wish I knew you better, Nottingham." Your voice is serious now. "Now clean up your mess and get the hell out of here."  
  
I rise from the couch and walk to the place where I left my blades on the floor. I bend to pick them up and I'm suddenly aware of your eyes boring holes in my back. I stretch slowly, a blade in each hand, and I turn to you. You stand there, watching me in the dim light and I'm wondering who is it that you see now. Is it a man who was sworn to protect you, a sibling of sorts? Or a man that just made you weak in your knees and you were ready to give yourself to him after he had threatened to take your life?  
  
Or is it just a half-naked man with two dangerous weapons in his bare hands?  
  
It's just me, Sara.  
  
I carefully place the blades on the coffee table and extend my hand to you. You watch me for a while, mesmerized. I smile when you slowly start walking towards me. I wave my hand impatiently.  
  
"My shirt, Sara."  
  
Your dreamy expression turns to hatred in that very second and you pull the shirt over your head, revealing your naked body for a moment and then the black cloth hits me in the face. I catch it and quickly put it on. Then I bend to pick up my sweather. When I look up, you're gone from sight. --------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
So, do you still like it, or not? I would really love to hear from you :)= 


	4. Part 4

Thank you kindly for all the reviews I have received here. It was so much fun:)= And here goes the last part. Cookies...  
  
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I'm not ready to go home yet. I watch your windows from the street across from your apartment. The temperature has dropped and a thin layer of snow and ice covers the sidewalk. If you were to look out of your window right now, you would see me here, sliding back and forth on the ice under the light of the street lamp.  
  
Shivering.  
  
My coat is too cold for that weather. Still reluctant to leave, I stand here freezing and I wonder. What the hell just happened between us? And more importantly - what were you thinking when you stepped towards my extended hand? What were you thinking when you understood that I only wanted my shirt back?  
  
Hell, what was I thinking when I stopped you?  
  
Your half-naked body comes to my mind yet again, as if to torment me with a prize I had within my reach and let go. But I couldn't do it to you.  
  
Like I couldn't do it to the other with your body and a mind of a weasel, though she demanded my touch and later even begged for it. And then she spat me in the face and called me a coward, the look of contempt in her eyes so unlike you.  
  
Like I couldn't do it to the timewalker either, though I knew that she would have liked it in the end, even If I were to chain her up to that wall and beat her. What happened to be exactly what I wanted to do to her for daring to hurt you.  
  
Does that make me a coward, Sara?  
  
I walk in circles, I look up at your windows and I realize I've made a decision. I wait for the lights to go off and I climb your fire escape. I pick the lock on your window and slide into your apartment. I turn to close the window and suddenly a dreadful feeling washes over me.  
  
How could I let my guard down like that?  
  
I slowly turn around, raising my hands in surrender. Your body is hidden in the shadow, I can only see the blade reflecting the pale moonlight, as it rises to stop inches from my throat. I notice that your hand is trembling slightly. Too bad, you could really hurt me with that, Sara. I swallow and slowly begin:  
  
"I can see you finally managed to persuade your little toy to work against me..."  
  
"Cut that crap!" You spit out, interrupting me. You shift on your feet to stand more securely and place your left hand on your hip. I follow the slight curve of your body with my eyes. You notice that and the tip of the blade draws nearer.  
  
"So what's next on your schedule, hm? Let's see, what do we got covered? Breaking and entering..." You nod towards the window. "Twice. One attempt to have a civilized cup of tea. Failed. One attempt to make a civilized conversation. Failed. One attempted murder. Failed. One attempt to have sex. Failed, to my deep regret."  
  
"Sara, I..." I begin, but you interrupt me furiously.  
  
"Shut up! Just shut up, Nottingham!..." I can see the eyes behind your eyes again and I know what you are about to say. You lower your voice and look me straight in the eye.  
  
"I know why you didn't do it. I know what you saw..." You let it hang there. Then you go back to counting. "One attempt to lighten the mood by means of hysterical laughter on your part. Failed as well."  
  
"You laughed," I point out.  
  
"I said shut up!"  
  
Does it turn you on, Sara? Standing here like that, with the blade to my throat, with all the control on your side? Because it sure as hell turns me on.  
  
"You are blowing my statistics, Nottingham. I think we should both..."  
  
My cell phone rings and we both gasp. I feel a sting of pain and a thin trickle of blood starts running down my neck and sinking into my collar.  
  
I point my finger in the general direction of my coat and you step back into the shadow, lowering the Witchblade. I fish out the cell phone from my pocket and put it to my ear.  
  
"Yes, Father."  
  
You shiver visibly and I hear the familiar clatter of the Witchblade retracting. How would you possibly know that it is only silence on the other end of the line? I cannot see the loathing on your face but I know it is there. I can feel it.  
  
He waits a while and then hangs up. I close the phone and put it back into my pocket. I touch my gloved finger to the wound on my neck and then look at the dark liquid glistening in the moonlight.  
  
"Daddy's worried?" Comes your sharp question.  
  
"So would appear," I answer politely. Then I tilt my head to the side so you can see the wound. "Now that we both cut each other, are we even?"  
  
You suddenly emerge from the shadow and step close to me. You look at my neck and then up at my face.  
  
"No, we're not."  
  
And then you just stand on tiptoe and begin to kiss me. I get the awful feeling as though I must have failed to notice something important. I quickly go through all the events of the evening but I can't find anything significant enough. Maybe except for your dreamy eyes back then, when we first... when I first...  
  
My thoughts seem to drift away of their own volition. I wonder why. Is it your mouth so eagerly exploring my mouth? Or is it your hand now resting against my chest? I don't give a damn, just don't stop it, please...  
  
You shift slightly and now your whole body is resting against mine. I close my eyes and inhale your scent. You must have had a coffee before I got here. You taste so good.  
  
The serpent slowly lifts its head and looks through my eyes. I growl at it and it retreats to its shelter in the back of my mind. No interruptions now.  
  
You stop kissing me for a moment and mutter against my mouth: "I shouldn't be doing this. I don't know what's got into me..."  
  
"Wish I could say 'me'..." I whisper and you smile. Then you bend my head to your shoulder and your mouth moves slowly towards my ear.  
  
"About those statistics, Nottingham..." You begin to whisper.  
  
I nibble your earlobe and you gasp. "What about them?"  
  
You are trembling now, but you try to keep your voice firm. And again we both know you have lost the battle. So you whisper hoarsely against my ear:  
  
"We should really discuss undoing all these mistakes we made today. But first..."  
  
You push me back suddenly and point to the window with a wicked smile on your pretty face.  
  
"You go get some cookies."  
  
*** [THE END]  
  
Like it? Don't like it? I would love to hear from you, you know...  
  
You want to see my other work? I'll post a sequel to this if you want. If you don't just go to my website Kompireality at http ://kompir.republika.pl (ff.net won't let me paste and address here, so just delete the space between http and : and paste it into your browser, otherwise it won't work...) and see for yourself. 


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